At the café downstairs.
Harry spoke with a sincere expression on his face:
"Leo, I want to stop this war between us."
"You've said something similar before," Leo replied with disdain. "I agreed, and not only did you fail to deliver peace, you escalated the war."
"I wasn't referring to them," Harry said, "I meant myself. Honestly, I'm tired of this endless struggle with you. Ever since I replaced Clint, I've achieved almost nothing as governor. All my energy has been consumed by this feud."
Leo looked at the man who appeared so earnest, but didn't believe a word. Emotions could be faked—interests couldn't. Someone like Harry, now so tightly bound to the Cotton family, would never betray his core interests.
Leo sighed and said,
"Harry, I miss the version of you that had just returned from the Anti-Fascist rally at the Lynchburg Hotel—smiling so genuinely. Not this man, full of hollow lies. Don't bother probing. You'll get nothing out of me."
Realizing his motives were exposed, Harry leaned back in his chair and said:
"Since breaking with you, I've never found anything quite as thrilling as fighting fascism. What a shame. Leo, you're going to lose this war. Truman won't win re-election. No one wants him to stay in office. And the Morgans, your new allies, are not what they were in the 1920s. Just like no one in politics wants another Roosevelt, no one in finance wants another financial emperor. Enjoy your final year of glory while you can."
With that, Harry got up to leave.
"Harry!" Leo called.
Harry turned and smirked, "You're not trying to surrender, are you? Too late—you'll never be accepted again."
Leo smiled back.
"Of course not. I just wanted to say, take care."
As Harry shook his head and walked out of the café, he couldn't help but reflect. In just two years, this young man had gone from a small-town businessman to one of the most influential figures in the Eastern United States. A true talent—but too fast, too soon. A man of Leo's magnitude should've been in his fifties, not twenty-three. He had broken the unspoken rules.
As Harry crossed the street, eager to get to his car parked across the road, a garbage truck came speeding by.
In the stunned screams of pedestrians, Harry's body arced through the air and crashed to the ground—lifeless.
The truck skidded to a halt. The driver, reeking of alcohol, stumbled out.
From inside the café, Leo watched the scene unfold. Surrounded by a growing crowd, Harry's body lay still. Leo took a sip of his coffee and murmured toward the window:
"Take care, Harry."
After Harry's death, Leo's ally, Vice Governor O'Brien, smoothly took over the governor's office. Understanding how his two predecessors had died, O'Brien quickly lifted the ban on JP·W's acquisition of Virginia First Bank and greenlit the deal.
A week later, JP·W's COO Dick strutted triumphantly into Alexander's office.
Facing the former superior who had once exiled him to obscurity, Dick pointed mockingly at Alexander's chair:
"Sir, please move. That seat's mine now."
In Long Island, New York, at the Cotton family estate, Leo's old adversaries were gathered again.
But this time, the room lacked harmony. Oswald was raging at James, Walter, and Gavin:
"Traitors! All of you!"
Walter frowned and replied,
"Oswald, watch your tone. We're not your family's lapdogs. America is a capitalist society—profits come first. When the Cotton family causes losses, naturally, we seek ways to recover them."
With a deeply valued son-in-law dead and cracks forming in the family's foundation, Harold looked aged overnight.
He said meaningfully:
"So your idea of minimizing losses was to sacrifice Harry?"
The trio exchanged glances—clearly, Cotton couldn't be fooled. But they hadn't intended to hide it. With the Cottons now dependent on Rockefeller support, they were no longer a threat.
James said,
"Mr. Cotton, you've done similar things more than once. I still remember what you said at a party once—'When a person's death is their only remaining value, we should extract that value to the fullest.'"
"And what value can the Cotton family offer you now, since you're all gathered here again?" Harold asked bitterly.
"For our common enemy—Leo," Walter said.
"He's become even more infuriating," Gavin added with greed in his eyes. "And the profits to be split are even juicier."
Harold sighed. A year ago, these people wouldn't have dared kill Harry. But after Leo tore down the Cotton family's golden image, the scavengers no longer feared them.
Even worse, these men knew Harold had no choice. To rise again, the family had to cleanse its blemishes.
Harold said:
"If we want to bring him down, we'll need to wait until Truman loses the election. But after Harry's death, the new governor O'Brien listens to Leo's every word. At this rate, even if Truman falls, Leo might find a new patron."
"We need to nominate a new lieutenant governor to restrain O'Brien and thereby limit Leo's growth."
Everyone nodded. James asked,
"But who?"
"That's obvious," Harold replied. "Whoever hates Leo the most."
"We all do!" Gavin said, confused.
"Not you," Walter said with a smirk. "We're talking about Jesse—the man who's been 'assassinated' so many times they call him the Mayor of the Hospital."
"So we all agree?" Harold asked.
As everyone nodded, he relaxed. Jesse, after all, had been groomed by their faction.
Sure, Harry had been more useful as a son-in-law, but Harold had another idea—he'd marry off his daughter, previously involved with Winston, to Jesse. A new son-in-law would do just fine.
"Good. Then Jesse and Gavin will take the spotlight. Iron Lion Gate must also continue to compete with Leo.
After all, people lived without presales before—didn't they still buy homes?
We must create differentiation and compete head-on.
In short, we can't let him grow too comfortably. One year from now, we will wash away our shame—and feast on the spoils!"
Highland Community. Leo's home.
Tonight's game wasn't about vacuum maids—but priests and nuns. Though Leo had always known that the graceful, elegant Evelyn hid a wild soul beneath her soft curves, he hadn't expected her to be this wild.
Not that he minded.
As God's sermon was poured into the nun's holy spirit, Evelyn—as always—fell asleep afterward.
Leo got up and walked to his study.
He opened the little black book he hadn't touched in a long time.
He had avoided using it because the risks of leveraging those people far outweighed the benefits. As his fortune grew, he couldn't blackmail others like before. He no longer walked barefoot—he wore shoes now. To blackmail others with their secrets was a surefire way to get crushed by his own enemies.
People with less power than him weren't worth calling. Those with equal power wouldn't risk everything for a favor. And those above him—well, they certainly wouldn't be moved by gratitude.
So Leo had waited, gathering power. Now, finally, it was time.
He opened to the first page and dialed the number beside the first name.
"Who is it?"
An aged but authoritative voice came through.
"General, I knew you still liked staying up late," Leo said.
"I thought you'd never call me again, Leo," came the grumbling reply.
"I'm ashamed. I let down your training," Leo said humbly.
He had every reason to be humble. The man on the line was a true heavyweight—a five-star general of the United States and Leo's former commander: Chester William Nimitz.
"You should be ashamed," Nimitz growled. "Back then, I took enormous pressure to promote you from sergeant to officer, just waiting to transfer you to the academy after a couple of years with MacArthur. And then you ruined it all with one stupid punch. So now, just because you've made a name for yourself, have money, dine with the president, and hang out with Jews, you finally dare to call this old man in the middle of the night?"
"I wouldn't dare, General. I just want to prove your judgment was right. I owe everything to the day you asked the Corleone family to save me. But I don't think my achievements are that great. They look glorious on the surface, but danger lurks beneath. I'm actually calling to ask for your help."
"At least you're not entirely stupid. You've been too fast, too reckless. That place—the East Coast—is no place for someone of your background. So what is it you want?"
"I'd like your support on the upcoming disarmament bill."
"You're lobbying a general… to cut his own troops?"
"General, we've discussed this before. Disarmament is inevitable. The real question is: how do we make the other branches cut more while the Navy cuts less?"
"Fair point," Nimitz grunted. "You might have the president's ear now, but you're not the only one."
"What if I add Marshall… and the Air Force?" Leo asked.
"Hahaha! You sly dog. You're still the same vengeful Leo I knew. So, you've set your sights on MacArthur? Fine. Tell me your plan."
After hanging up, Leo stared into the dark, remembering the brothers of Third Squad who died in fire.
He whispered:
"Brothers… just a little longer."
September.
The weather in New York had started to cool. At the Waldorf Hotel, guests came and went.
Today marked the official establishment of the New York State Veterans Mutual Aid Committee.
In fact, both before and after Leo founded the committee, there had always been numerous veteran organizations of varying size.
But only this Mutual Aid Committee saw its membership grow steadily.
Why?
Because Leo didn't just hand out fish—he taught people how to fish.
Besides the standard services like university prep classes, fast-track letters of recommendation, and loan processing, Leo now owned a construction company. With that, he began offering vocational training programs for construction jobs, aimed at helping these soldiers returning from hell reintegrate into civilian life as quickly as possible.
There were many attendees today.
But since it was still early and the event hadn't officially begun, the real bigshots hadn't arrived yet.
Leo didn't need to greet people at the entrance—Daniel was handling all of that.
At the moment, Leo sat in a guest room on the second floor of the hotel. Desmond had brought two men with him—and a piece of good news.
"Leo, I've been elected Mayor of Campbell County," Desmond announced.
Leo turned his gaze to the two men beside him.
Sitting upright and formal was Bishop Harris of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, and seated more casually was Father Lesterwen from Lynchburg.
Desmond had been in Washington recently, helping Leo screen and distribute presale authorization permits. There was no way he could have had time to run a campaign.
So clearly, Bishop Harris had orchestrated this.
Lesterwen didn't yet have that kind of influence.
"Mr. Valentino," Bishop Harris said with composure,
"The Seventh-day Adventist Church has been around since the colonial era. Our history is deeply intertwined with the history of America itself.
But some opportunists—by cozying up to the Vatican and evangelical factions—have seized control of religious discourse across both the United States and all of the Americas.
Yes, I'm talking about your enemies—the Cotton family.
I've spoken with leaders from several other denominations. We want to cooperate with you, to fight against the Cottons together.
Desmond's election as mayor is a token of our sincerity.
Of course, that's not all—we're also ready to launch thirteen urban church community projects, all in central city locations."
As Leo listened, a phrase suddenly flashed through his mind:
"When the king loses the deer, all under heaven give chase."
The Cotton family, though mighty, had begun their descent. And once decline begins, there are always people willing to give it a push.
In simple terms—the churches want their freedom back.